So, call me a hypocrite. These are made in China. The top flashlight and radio were purchased in 2006 and the light’s been used frequently since then, including last night.
The crank side
Radio
Here’s how those came into my life:
Friday, September 22, 2006 Placitas, New Mexico
Winterizing
Today I was finishing up battening down the hatches on the old adobe for winter. The last week or so it’s been into the low 40s a couple of times, nights, so I’ve been pecking away at putting up plastic over the insides of most of the windows to cut down on the amount of wind blowing through the house. I came across some car-covers free a while back when the lady was wrapping up at the flea market and was going to haul them to the dump because they didn’t sell.
I’m cutting up those to staple over the plastic in hopes it will provide insulation. Last year it got cold enough in here to impress me with my pansyish non-pioneer spirit, even with Mexican blankets hung over all the windows and the front door on the inside.
Anyway, I ran spang out of staples and plastic, mid-job, so I toodled down to Rio Rancho Home Depot to buy more. The clerk asked me in passing, “Does it look like snow out there to you?”
I’d been asking myself the same question almost from daybreak onward. “Pretty early for it. Almost never get snow before the first of October. But it’s happened.”
Clerk laughed, handed me my bag, and I headed back through Bernalillo toward the mountains.
As I passed the Dollar General I was reminded I was running short of tortillas and a couple of other incidentals, so I swung in. I always take a look at their half-price clearance items, which are dirt-cheap and sometimes something a man could use.
There on the half-price clearance table was a plastic package with a hand-crank flashlight and a handcrank AM/FM Weather radio. $12 regular price. Hmmm.
Some little voice in my mind says, “Jules, old man, batteries are dead on your flashlight, and likely are dead on your radio. You need to buy that $6 package of flashlight and battery just in case the power goes out for a few days.”
So I put it in the plastic box hanging off my arm, picked up a few extra cans of canned fruit and fruit c*cktail, and headed for the checkout. Clerk knows me by sight and we’re amiable.
“You think it looks like snow out there?”
“You been talking to the guy down at Home Depot?”
Blank look.
“Guy down there just said the same thing. I think you might be right. That’s the reason I’ve picked that half-price radio and flashlight off your clearance table.”
Another blank look, then he squints at the plastic thingie with all that in it. “Was this on the clearance table?”
“Yup.”
He calls the manager over. “Is this half price?”
“No. The half-price stuff was all the summer stock… barbeque things and that.”
I scowl. “Okay. I’m not paying $12 for it. Don’t ring it up.”
“You’ll buy it for $6?” She grins at me. We clown around some when I’m in there.
“Five and a half.”
“Six.”
“Sold. Ring it up.”
Sooooo. I ended up with a hand-crank charging flashlight and radio.
The hosses are getting thick coats of hair. I’m thinking it’s going to be an early, bull-goose of a winter.
Mainly the radio and flashlight thing. I confess I haven’t gotten a good look at what the hosses are doing, hair-wise.
Jules
Edited in:
As I re-read this entry I noticed the censor had edited out the nasty part of the word c*cktail. So here I was claiming I’d bought some fruit tail, which I might if I ever come across any, but this wasn’t the day for it. That old censor’s always catching me out when I try to use that nasty word, full-c*cked pistol, c*ck fights, and now fruit c*cktail. Lucky thing for me that old censor’s on the job. Otherwise I’d be saying just awful stuff.
2011 observation regarding automatic censoring out of nasty language: Me, I’m sorry that’s gone away. Having a computer perform the job of straight-man instead of having to wait for some commenting reader to do the job’s a lot more 21st Centuryish. I’m old fashioned that way.
Turned out I was so impressed with that flashlight I included it here: SECTION 10: SURVIVAL AND EMERGENCY SUPPLIES and if I were writing the book again I’d say a lot more about it, including what’s in this post. I have a lot more experience with these now than I did when I wrote the book.
2011, I still use the flashlight frequently and it still does a good job at what it’s supposed to do. The radio was up on a shelf until I began writing this, hadn’t been turned on in a couple of years, dust covering it. I cleaned it up, cranked it for a minute, turned it on and picked up several stations immediately. These things are ‘way too good to be made in China.
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Here are some others I’ve picked up over the years. They’re good too.
Niaid was curled up on the bed, [I double-checked] so whatever else that critter was, it was an outsider. The chickens were ranging free and I couldn’t hear any alarm from them, but this guy just looked too big to have roaming around without interruption.
As I came around the cabin where I could see him better:
It was obvious the feline was operating out of a different reality. Which didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t need to be the focus of protective measures. But how does a person protect his chickens from a shadow-cat? I’ve done some websearching on the various news sites and checked out the methods incorporated by the US Government into programs to avoid having shadow-cats disrupting citizen-like critters such as these:
The consensus seems to be you have to get one of these:
No matter what the cost.
I’m not certain I want to have one of those running around here loose, even when I have dangerous shadowcats skulking around peeking at my holdings.
Once something of that sort gets a foothold there’s no predicting where it will end:
Sugar pills in toy jars
Candy counter cures
For the sensory deprived
For the spirit that yearns hardship
Facade struggle for the
Stagely frightened
Sedentary soul
Living a reality
Where gangster boss of fantasy
Celluloid deeds and words
Are worth repeating;
Gladiator wars in plastic armor
Oaken clubs and pigskin missiles
Pudding danger jello struggles
Hard and real inside the mind
Inside the molded plastic
Toy of the mind
Man who cleans the windshield
At the signal is an actor
In the show last night
On MTV or HBO
Sexy girls dancing
In the background
As he postures
Rag and bucket
On the glass
Toy hero pushes button
In the Kevlar coated dragon
Of the field
Sees the enemy extinguished
In a prophylactic
Box of evening news
Before and after
Old war movies
All the same
Any loss is accidental
Cost of war’s
In higher taxes
Salaries for heroes
Fuel bullets
Not in blood
Not in blood
Sterile sealed
In plastic baggies
Plastic baggies
Hold the artificial
Flavor
Of the life
When life was real
Yet the sickness
Needs a remedy and cure
Sugar pills in toy bottles;
New candy counter pudding
For the soul.
From the inside of Night Fortress 2 there’s a step up through the exit hole and he’s having a lot of difficulty with it because of his crippled leg and wing.
Those chains, incidently, are part of an ongoing war with generations of Brother Coon trying to dig into the fortress at night. The links where they meet the ground have treble-hooks wired to them to discourage digging there, but it’s a labor intensive game. They’re the first line of defense. Under the wood chips they’re on the holes are stuffed with prickly pear cactus, then covered with wood chips. Brother Coon eventually gets past them all and insists on my going to the next level of debate: The Lost Coon Diggings
Even the largest hen doesn’t have a problem with it. But after the hens are all out harvesting the night carcasses under the bug-light he’ll still be in there crowing, evidently dreading the prospect of fighting his way through that opening.
I load the chicken drinking water up with home-made colloidal silver, catch him and soak his legs in orange-peel tincture, and it all seems to help, but gradually GSB’s hard living before I got him’s coming home to roost.
Usually GSB doesn’t indulge in cliche, but maybe his mind’s going, too. Lately I’ve heard him say more than once, “If I’d known I was going to live this long I’d have taken better care of myself.”
If he keeps doing that I might be tempted to chop off his head.
One of the ways I keep up on world events and amuse myself when I’m alone in an eating establishment without a book involves eavesdropping. I gaze at the food, a picture on the wall, something outdoors through the plate glass, and I listen to conversations at the nearby tables.
It’s curiosity, as much as anything else. And mostly I lose interest quickly because so often the talk is about some sports event, concert, or a television show. But sometimes it’s pay dirt.
A while before I left New Mexico I was doing the listening routine to the goings-on among several BDU and otherwise uniform clad people of both sexes, all toting large-bore automatic pistols in holsters hanging from their waists.
Turned out these folks were part of a conference between Federal and State Homeland Security forces (whatever that might be). I’d never seen that particular uniform combination, nor the patches and medallions, so I listened as closely as I dared without drawing attention to myself.
The eating establishment is on San Felipe Tribal Lands. Maybe that’s why the conversation drifted in that direction.
Fed: “Do you have any issues dealing with any of the tribes?”
NM State: “You wouldn’t believe it. Everything’s an issue.”
And so on in detail involving a lot of ‘issues’ a person born in 1943 (me), would never have believed could ever be discussed by government employees as though they should be part of any reality here. The attitude was clearly that the tribes were being irresponsible in reluctance and obstruction of the aims of Homeland Security.
The topic broadened in a while.
NM State: “I think a lot of people just don’t understand what we’re doing. They don’t realize how dangerous things are for them.”
Fed: “That’s a problem all over the country. I was in Phoenix a few weeks ago . . ., etc”
That NM Homeland Security lady all dressed up with a gun and nowhere to go was wrong.
I believe most people understand perfectly well what they’re doing and have an inkling of why they’re doing it. It isn’t a lack of understanding that makes me smile and cheer inside, knowing the tribes, at least, are dragging their feet.
I think people are beginning to ‘realize how dangerous things are for them’, to the extent that dangers actually exist in this hostile reality we’ve chosen for ourselves. But at least a part of the ‘danger’ people feel involves a new kind of policeman who thinks the US Constitution is obstructionist.
They just don’t know what needs to be done about it.
Three of these four worthless felines are getting a bit long in the tooth, two longer than the next in line. It’s been a tough summer with the drought and heat wave, so I’ve had to take some measures to give them some relief I couldn’t provide for myself.
Shiva’s not one of the two oldest, but she had a health event a couple of winters ago that’s taken a long time to recover from, and she has a special job here if the cows ever come back. She’s Shiva the Cow Cat. Loved chasing cows back when they were bothersome. [ Artful Communications – White Trash Repairs 3 ]
I might add some other meanderings here today as other things come to mind, but what’s on my mind this morning is I need to start working on the front porch cat houses I put together last fall to give them all places to get out of the elements. Now that the heat’s bending in the other direction I wouldn’t be shocked to see a winter rearing it’s head before I’m ready for it.
Old Jules
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7:45 AM – Escape Route Possibilities – Fridge and trailer
Another issue that’s been on my mind a lot lately is creating myself a place to live if anything intervenes to insist I get the hell out of Dodge. The whole thing’s complicated by the contract I have with these cats, all but one of them, to take care of them until they die off, or I die off. I’ve talked with them about it, and they have some strong views about minimum living conditions, etc, which I’m obliged to consider. A tent or under a bridge doesn’t meet their minimum criteria.
I mentioned in an earlier post that I’m looking around for an old travel trailer I can get for a price I can afford, and the new truck up there Gale’s going to help me pull to town to let an honest-to-goodness mechanic fix the wiring mess, inspect it to get it legal, and eventually pull whatever I come up with for it to pull.
While I’m scouting around looking for an old travel trailer I’ve also been looking at this, considering whether it mightn’t offer an alternative:
Of course, if I select this option I’ll be building it from salvaged recycled materials.
This trailer below has been sitting there with that load on it from the time Gale and Kay moved here from Pflugerville. His shop building was full and he didn’t have anywhere to put all that stuff, so it’s stayed there, everything on it getting ruined by the weather and the tires going flat.
another view:
That lathe, left rear, is troubling to see. But so’s a lot of the other once-useful items on there.
another view:
another view:
If I can think of somewhere to put that junk, protecting whatever’s left worth protecting, I just might be able to talk him out of the trailer if I decide the building a house on a trailer option seems the best after everything’s considered.
On the other hand, the fridge is now a sure thing. I was talking with Gale while he was doing some jewelry work the other day and noticed this, down there bottom center:
Turns out it’s the gas/electric fridge out of an old travel trailer I gave him about 30 years ago. He says it’s mine if I want it.
A while back I was without music to confuse the owl-folk. I’d spang worn out my Kerrville FreeCycle-donated 200 CD Sony player and was scouting around for whatever the Universe had in mind to replace it. A couple of months had passed, to I figured the Universe was ripe.
Salvation Army Thrift Store in Kerrville was having a half-price off on electronics sale. I nosed around among the 8 track tape players, the television sets, the wires with all kinds of connections pretending not to pay any mind to a Sony 300 CD player staring at me as though I was the abyss. The door was open on it and it seemed a bit battered, but someone had taped, “WORKS” on it, along with a price of $65. $32.50 with the half-price on electronics.
The guy I think must be the store manager was at the register, and we’ve done enough business over time for him to know my ways and for me to know his. Between ringing up purchases he was watching me not lo0k at that CD player with a half-smile on his face. I moseyed over to it scowling, making sure in the corner of my eye he was looking, and tried to mess with the door to get it closed. Shook my head, then looked up and met his eye.
“If that thing has a door it doesn’t seem to close.”
“Bring it over here and we’ll talk about it.”
I put it on the counter and we both scowled at it. “That’s a lot of money to have to risk for something might not work. If I bought it could you write down something so I could bring it back if it doesn’t work?”
We both knew the answer to that one. It’s sold as is. “I can’t do that. But I’d sure hate for someone to buy it and get stuck with it not working. What do you think it’s worth risk-wise?”
He and I have been through this enough times before to know how we play the game. “I couldn’t pay more than $20 for it.”
“No,” shaking his head, “I’d rather give it to you free than let you pay that much.”
“I’m not taking that out of here free. I’m not begging. I’m just trying to find a price we can agree on. How about $15?”
“How about a buck?”
“$10? I’m not sure I can go any lower than 10. A man has to live with his conscience.” I feigned away from the counter as though about to walk off.
“Noo, no, no!” Him acting frantic. “How about $5? Could you go $5?”
“Sold.”
He carried it across the counter to the register and started figuring the tax. “It’s half-price for electronics today. But you probably don’t want to use that, do you?”
“Naw. Just ring it up at the full price we agreed to. I’m not looking for any bargain.”
Edited in Preface: Someone’s told me this post is a bit grim, which floored me. That is NOT what this is all about. I might well be the happiest man on the planet, the most joyful and grateful for the roof over his head, for the animalcules, for every moment of this life I’m blessed with. I am sure as hell not complaining about the way I live in this post, not poking around looking for sympathy from anyone. There’s not one of you I’d trade lives with.
Please allow your mind to read what follows with a smile. I love this crap. This post is me laughing at myself, laughing at whatever life might throw at me, telling life, “Do your damnedest! I’ll keep coming.”
“Science,” Hydrox the jellicle cat insists, “You observe, you formulate a premise, you test the premise and revise it, then you test again. Just make damned certain it’s right this time.” Hydrox is one of the two felines indoors during cool, and especially during inclement weather. “If science isn’t cutting it try some engineering.”
He takes a jaundiced view of hiding under something to get away from thunder only to get drenched by a lousy roof repair experiment. Hydrox is attuned Level 3 Reiki.
“Reiki Masters,” he assures me, ” At least cat Reiki Masters, don’t appreciate being interrupted from doing high-minded things by getting sloshed because of criminal negligence on the part of a human being.”
Back when I was attuning him several people thought this mightn’t be a good thing. It’s been a mixed blessing.
That chimney pipe was leaking badly back when it still rained. But this repair job hasn’t had the test of a good rainfall yet.
Edit: This larger diameter stovepipe came from Habitat for Humanity Thrift Store [toward the bottom here: Curiouser and curiouser ] for a couple of bucks. If the current fix doesn’t work I’ll cut the down-end with the angle cutter to match the slope of the roof, cut the top shorter than the chimney vent and sleeve the chimney with it. I thinks it will block of a lot, if not all the pesky intrusion of rain into the chimney pipe.
As you can see, I’ve smeared tar all over the the joints in the sheet metal roof, in addition to the customized chimney. That didn’t work too well, I’ll confess. Got some other things to try though. The light brown or tan you see is the foam you get at the hardware store that is touted as being able to plug large leaks by expanding into them to fill in the space. No joy on that.
The chimney problem’s crucial. Water hitting the side of it goes inside, runs down to the elbow in the bedroom but doesn’t slow down much:
[The gray hat’s a XXXXXX John B Stetson I picked up at a silent auction a few years ago for $10. Man who owned but never wore it died and left it to me, though we never met.]
Naturally there’s a backup plan to keep water from coming down on the bed in the unlikely event it rains:
This has worked pretty well in the light rain arena. Hasn’t been tested in a bull goose honest-to-goodness wind blowing rain sideways daddy-long-legs storm.
But we didn’t reach a consensus, the felines etc. on the matter of roof repairs and leaks. Shiva the cow-cat argues, “What the hell! Here’s a perfect spot for both those indoor cats in a thunderstorm. What’s the big deal? If they don’t like it throw them outdoors with Tabby and me.
“I’m sick and tired of all the age discrimination around here in favor of geriatric cats.”
Expect an uneventful day, blogsters. Nothing has happened in the world on September 13, since 1922:
Turkey 1922 Turkey Constantinople
13th Sept. 1922 : Following the Turkish Victory in Constantinople, crowds have taken to the streets and are attacking Greek churches and homes and destroying them . The Turkish troops have been dispatched to keep order. The spread of Typhus and the Plague are now reaching epidemic proportions but authorities are insisting they do no not wish aid in the form of medical assistance from neighboring countries.
Actually there was this: U.S. 1926 U.S.A. Bandits Robbing Mail Trains
13th September 1926 : The Post Office Department sent a memo to it’s army of 25,000 railway mail clerks an order to shoot to kill any bandits attempting to rob the mail, this follows an ever increasing number of robberies by bandits on the mail service which carries millions of dollars worth of mail every day. They also issued a statement saying that if the robberies continue the marines will be bought in again to protect the mail. http://www.thepeoplehistory.com/september13th.html
But otherwise nothing’s ever happened on September 13, since 1922, so relax.
On the other hand, this from Spaceweather.com
HARVEST MOONBOW: Last night’s Harvest Moon was so bright, it did something normally reserved for the sun. It made a rainbow:
“I was surprised to see a rainbow at night,” says Marsha Adams of Sedona, Arizona, who took the picture nearly 2 hours before sunrise. “The rainbow was apparently caused by the Harvest Moon beaming through the rain clouds.”
Indeed, moonlight reflected by raindrops breaks into the colors of a rainbow just like sunlight does. It takes an especially bright Moon, however, to make the phenomenon visible to the human eye. Did anyone else spot a Harvest Moonbow? Submit your images here.
I’ve been talking this over with the cats and chickens this morning, the September 13 ennui, and the possible implications and ramifications as they apply to the human psyche and potential injecting something to mitigate it all. Eventually we agreed on a course of action.
Today I’m going to be playing a constantly repeating CD of a violent thunderstorm outdoors with as much volume as I can coax out of the receiver and speakers. We here in the middle of nowhere want to do our small part for humanity while maybe giving a whispering hint to Mama Nature without being pushy.
It’s a true fact I’ve observed whenever I’ve been around watching people watch television: When the box shoots out canned laughter it triggers laughter on the people watching it. It’s time, the cats, the chickens and I have decided, to give Mama Nature a healthy dose of canned thunder and the sound of rain falling.
Old Jules
9:30 AM – Raising the ante:
On the off-chance I’m being too subtle in my communications with Mama Nature, I’ve got a load of socks and underwear in my handy-dandy 1947 Kenmore washing machine [ Clean Underwear and Hard Times ] running the gauntlet. After the rinse I’m not going to wring them out, but instead will hang them from the line to provide the nearest thing I’m able to rainfall hitting the dirt underneath the line.
I’m betting between the canned thunder, the sound of rainfall, and all that dripping underneath, Mama Nature’s plenty smart enough to put it all together.
I just hope I got all the soap out of my socks and drawers. I don’t need Mama Nature soaping down the countryside and trying to wash all the stuff out of the holes in the roof I’ve been plugging to stop the leaks if it ever rains.
Compulsive personality. That’s the only possible explanation I can think of for this recurring pattern in my life.
Today I had to go into Harper to pay a bill due tomorrow. I hate to make a trip in without getting full value for the gasoline expended getting there, so after I’d taken care of business I drove around the several back streets. I was craning my neck, straining my eyes, looking into the back yards of abandoned houses for a cab-over camper or camper trailer I might be able to pick up cheap as a potential way to give myself an escape route if something goes sour here.
I’ll be posting about some of that Harper thing another time. But after I finished nosing the back streets I went to the Harper Library Resale Store just because it was there. Picked up $6.00 worth of used books at 25 cents each, moseyed around and eyeballed a wireless weather station with rain gauge, anemometer, all manner of goodies for $20. But the box was open and there was dust on it.
My computer-like mind registered this and concluded it had been sitting there a while, nobody willing to pay $20 for it. So I carried my books to the register and while she counted them, “That weather station back there looks as though it’s been here a while.”
She stopped counting and looked at me grinning. They know me there. “You want to bargain about it?”
“Wulll. Actually, I’m not sure I want it. I couldn’t pay more than $10.”
She grinned and pointed to the room where it was located, started walking back there. “You’re going to TAKE $10? You ought not take $10.” Sheeze. We don’t get any weather here and who cares how fast the wind is blowing? When we got there she picked it up out of the box, frowning.
“The wind direction doesn’t work is the only thing.”
“Bobby Dylan and I decided a long time ago we didn’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”
So back to the register. $16.00. She holds up an orange card. “Do you have one of these yet?” No, I nods. “Every time you buy $10 worth of anything we stamp it. When you’ve got $10 stamped 10 times you get $10 off your next purchase.”
“Whoah! You’re telling me if I spent $4 more I’d have gotten two stamps on there?”
Smile. “Yes.”
“Okay. Let me wander around in here a little longer.”
I found four copies of the Texas Historical Review from the 1990s for 50 cents each. Then I found a pair of good sneakers that fit marked $3. I carried them back to the register. “Okay. $2 for the Historical Reviews and $3 for the shoes. Give me another stamp on that card.”
She starts adding, mutters, “Men shoes are half price today. You’re 50 cents short. 26 cents even if we count the sales tax.”
Deep breath. “I want to donate 26 cents to the library. Stamp the card.”
Speedometer cable was making noise on the Toyota when it went Communist. Maybe if the cable breaks I can attach that anemometer to the top of the truck and use the wind speed for a speedometer if I ever get the 4Runner running on pavement again.
SOLAR RADIO BURSTS: This week’s sharp increase in solar activity has turned the sun into a radio transmitter. Bursts of shortwave static are coming from the unstable magnetic canopy of sunspot 1283. Tuesday in New Mexico, amateur radio astronomer Thomas Ashcraft recorded some samples at 21 MHz: listen. Radio listeners should remain alert for this kind of solar activity as sunspot 1283 continues to seethe. http://spaceweather.com/
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Got a call last night from Gale saying they were in Van Horn, headed home. They should have arrived around midnight, so they can take care of their own animalcules this morning.
He said the Hatch Chili Festival probably won’t be among their future plans for having a booth. Sales were flat on most of his crafts, though the Siberian Wolf fang jewelry sold a bit, and his old stand-by steak turners with elk-antler shaped handles might have brought him to the break-even point. He sounded a bit down-hearted and beat to a small frazzle. But those craft shows are a big piece of the glue holding this place and their lifestyle together.
I’ve wondered for some while how long financial ventures depending on consumers buying non-essentials could hold up in a lousy economy.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past while about various news items I wouldn’t be aware of if it weren’t for the Internet and blogs I read. It’s guided my thinking into directions I probably wouldn’t otherwise drift, such as actually having conscious priorities in my life for a while. At least sort-of priorities.
Not to suggest anyone’s a good economic prognosticator, but with all that guessing going on out there, and with what appears to be a lot of contributory factors, I probably owe it to the cats, at least, to have a backup plan. A way to get the hell out of Dodge intact if things go sour, that has room in it for four cats. If something happens to Gale or their finances, or SS is eroded by inflation, or both, hedging against the sleep-under-a-bridge alternative probably makes sense.
My obvious first priority is to get my new truck running and street legal.
But after that’s done, I’m either going to need to build a house to live in on the bed of it, find an old overcab camper to fit in it, or find a camper-trailer sitting out somewhere I can pick up for nearly nothing for fixing up to pull behind it.
I see these sitting around with weeds growing up around them a lot. I think once I have transportation I’ll have to get serious about trying to acquire one or something rhyming with it as a future place for me and the felines if the Coincidence Coordinators decide to play dirty.
I’m thinking if things get too rough I might be able to slick out further west and establish a moving circuit of campsite homes on US Bureau of Land Management and US Forestry Service lands, changing locations every couple of weeks to stay legal. The cats don’t care for the idea, but they tell me they’d agree to it if I won’t get any chickens.
I’ll probably talk more about various facets of all this in future posts. Progress reports, learnings, that sort of thing.
————————————————-
Meanwhile, happy posthumorous birthday to Jimmie Rodgers
74 years old, a resident of Leavenworth, KS, in an apartment located on the VA campus. Partnered with a black shorthaired cat named Mister Midnight. (1943-2020)
Since April, 2020, this blog is maintained by Jeanne Kasten (See "About" page for further information).
https://sofarfromheaven.com/2020/04/21/au-revoir-old-jules-jack-purcell/
I’m sharing it with you because there’s almost no likelihood you’ll believe it. This lunatic asylum I call my life has so many unexpected twists and turns I won’t even try to guess where it’s going. I’d suggest you try to find some laughs here. You won’t find wisdom. Good luck.
So Far From Heaven 
